


From The Heart

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder and Sylar have their own traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mylar Fic Holiday Prompt Table: " 'Tis the season"

Hunched forward on the sofa, with his elbows on his knees and gently touching a wet cloth to the corner of his mouth, Mohinder flinches at the sting from the cut. He holds the cloth out and glances at the bloodstain, then glares at Sylar who has finally settled down by sitting in the armchair to Mohinder’s right.

“I can’t tell you how much Molly will appreciate seeing me like this tomorrow,” Mohinder mutters and softly presses the cloth back in place.

Sylar tightly wraps his hands around the ends of the armrests and flits his gaze over to Mohinder. “You started it.”

“And you can heal, so it’s hardly a fair fight.”

“You should have known better,” Sylar counters. “But you can’t help it. You’re still trying to prove yourself—,”

Mohinder scoffs and grimaces at the pain. “To whom? You?”

“Yes.” Sylar is unwavering, his tone daring Mohinder to deny what they both know.

Mohinder tosses the cloth to the table. “Why? What could I possibly hope to gain from that?”

Sylar doesn’t hesitate, as if the answer is obvious and best stated without confusing embellishments. “The knowledge that you’re worthy of being thought of alongside me, not the fragile creature Chandra had you pegged for.”

The sentiment strikes a bit too close to home for Mohinder’s liking, so he huffs instead of answering, eventually laying his head against the backrest and closes his eyes, then looks over. “Don’t you ever get tired of this? You disappear for most of the year and do—well, those repulsive things only you can justify with a skewed moral conscience—and then you turn up for a once a year free-for-all with me?”

Sylar regards him a few seconds and shrugs. “I’m a creature of habit.”

“You mean you’re insane.”

“Do you know what insanity is?”

Mohinder raises an eyebrow, expectantly.

Sylar leans forward. “It’s doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result.”

“Sounds like wishful thinking to me,” Mohinder deadpans and stands up, surprised to see concern flash across Sylar’s face as he begins to follow suit. Mohinder raises his right hand in a stop motion, but Sylar is already on his feet.

Mohinder furrows his brow. “Personally, I think doing the same thing over again and wanting the outcome to be the same is a sign of mental illness. There are always variables, as minute as they may be, that alter each scenario, even if only slightly…and sometimes that’s all you need.”

Noticing the rip in Sylar’s shirt, Mohinder points to it. Sylar stares down at the damage and touches the frayed material, almost reverently, as if it’s a symbol of something significant; though he has no intention of sharing what that may be.

Returning Mohinder’s gaze once more, Sylar says, “But what good are those if you never capitalize on them?”

“I’m at a bit of a disadvantage if you haven’t noticed.”

“Which has never stopped you before; why make excuses now? Intentionally or not, you’ve set a high standard. You somehow manage to keep me guessing.”

Mohinder folds his arms across his chest and angles his head back. “So _this_ is some disturbed part of the festive season for you?”

“Tradition,” Sylar clarifies cryptically.

Mohinder shakes his head and crinkles his face in disbelief. “Is that what I’m to tell Molly? That Christmas means blood and bruises between us?”

Sylar smirks and steps closer, daring him to recoil (which he doesn’t). “Tell her…’tis the season.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Some people exchange gifts, we trade on personal vendettas. Which do you think have more thought put into them?”

Mohinder rolls his eyes and Sylar’s self-assured confidence. “I suppose we’ll be going another round soon?”

Sylar grins. “The night’s still young.”


End file.
